


First Meetings, Fate, and Molly Hooper

by SimplyShelbs16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Meet-Cute, Missing Scenes, Romance, pre s1 and post s4, takes place before the montage as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 21:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Fate brought them together once, and it brings them together again. Read on to find out how Sherlock and Molly met, and how that meeting came back into play after the phone call.





	First Meetings, Fate, and Molly Hooper

Mysteries always seemed to surround Sherlock Holmes. One of those mysteries happened to be how he met Molly Hooper in the first place. Everyone had an inkling that they met before work brought them together, and they certainly weren’t wrong. Sherlock did not believe in anything beyond a logical explanation, and he certainly did not believe in fate…not until two weeks had passed since the phone call. But, in order to understand how fate was proven to our favourite detective, we must first dive into the past.

**Autumn 2009**

_Taking a drag from his cigarette, Sherlock Holmes strolled the streets of London. He loved the atmosphere, seeing it through a different perspective than most people. He was supposed to be searching for a flat, as his brother demanded, but the task was awfully boring. The skies were growing dark, an autumn chill in the air. The only sounds were chattering people, and the crunching of fallen leaves beneath his feet._

_That’s when he saw her. A young woman was struggling to find something within her handbag. They were inching closer, soon to pass by one another beneath the lamplight. And they would have had she not ended up running into the lamppost, causing her to fall on the cool, hard concrete._

_Sherlock, despite his reservations on human interaction, immediately offered a hand to help. “That was quite a tumble you took.” The woman just looked at him incredulously for a moment before gathering her thoughts._

_“Ye—yes,” she stuttered, taking his hand, and allowing him to help her up. “I suppose I’m just a bit scatter-brained today. Thank you for your help.”_

_“It was no problem,” he replied more politely than he ever had been. Sherlock admired the silky chestnut waves that flowed just past her shoulders, and the wisdom that resided in her eyes. It was the kind of wisdom that most say resides in old souls. He did not believe in such poppycock, but there was something about this woman that fascinated him._

_When in observation mode, Sherlock could typically bring up several factors about a person, but she was an enigma to him. Only three observations came to mind: she was new to London, wise for her age, and she recently lost somebody very close to her. But now, as the wind blew her scent toward him, he noted a hint of ginger nut and formaldehyde. So, she loved to bake, and had a medical career of some sort._

_“Well, I, uh, should probably get going before it gets too dark. I still get lost around here,” she laughed._

_“Why don’t I walk you home?” The words left his lips before he had time to think._

_“Would you? I know the address, but I’m not sure how to get back from—“ she squinted her eyes at the sign, suggesting that she probably owned a pair of reading glasses “—Baker Street.”_

_“I’d be delighted to guide you.” He smiled genuinely. What was wrong with him, he wondered. He told himself it was only because he didn’t want her to come to any harm; after all, it was quite dark outside, and unsafe for a woman to be walking the streets alone._

_They had been walking for a couple of minutes in silence until Molly spoke up. “Ya know, I never asked what your name was.”_

_“It’s Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” he replied, keeping his eyes forward._

_“What an interesting name,” she mused. “I’m Molly. Molly Hooper.” Sherlock smirked just slightly at her impersonation of his introduction. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you decide to help me?”_

_“I don’t know,” Sherlock told her softly. “I don’t like not knowing.” The rest of the walk was spent in comfortable silence. Molly hadn’t a clue why she felt she could trust this strange man, but having him beside her was the safest she had felt in a long time._

_“Well, here we are,” she announced as the approached her building. “I’d invite you in for tea, but the place is a disaster. Thank you again for your help, Mister Holmes.”_

_He said nothing for a moment, contemplating how to avoid any further interaction. “Sleep well, Molly Hooper.” And he walked off into the chilly night air._

**Autumn 2016 (Present Day)**

Sherlock hadn’t been in contact with Molly since he broke her heart via phone call, and if he was being honest with himself, it broke his heart too. He had been so afraid to see the inevitable hate she would no doubt hold in her eyes if she saw him again. Construction was continuing in his flat, but he needed to escape the noise for a while. He stepped out onto the street, a familiar autumn breeze sending chills down his spine, despite his coat and scarf adorning him.

He desperately needed a cigarette, but instead, he added a third patch. After all, he was facing a three patch problem. Thoughts of Molly refused to leave his mind, and it haunted him every second of every day since Sherrinford. As he lost himself within his head, strolling down Baker Street, he heard the sound of sudden impact, followed by a voice he could recognize anywhere.

“Not again,” she muttered to herself, picking up the items that fell out of her handbag. Despite his fears, Sherlock was immediately by her side, helping her gather her things. “Thank you so much, I haven’t—“Her eyes locked with his. “Sherlock.”

“It seems you have a habit of walking into lampposts,” he quipped, hoping to divert any awful scenarios.

“Apparently, it’s just this one,” she replied. “Funny how we still meet like this after all these years; it’s almost like fate.”

“Fate,” he muttered to himself. Remembering their surroundings, Sherlock offered his hand to her once more, and she did take it, albeit hesitantly. “Molly, I—“ He was stopped by her finger pressed to his lips in an effort to keep him quiet. As she pulled away, his fingers brushed hers, and she allowed him to hold her hand. Instead of speaking of his feelings, he decided to show her by pressing a light kiss against her knuckles.

Molly’s breath caught in her throat, unable to speak. Instead, she inched closer to him until his arms were around her and hers around him. This is what they needed. It didn’t matter that they were lingering on the street. It was, after all, the same spot they met seven years ago. When she was finally able to speak, all she asked was, “Walk me home?”

Nodding, he took her hand in his, and began to lead her in the direction of her flat, but quickly realised she wasn’t budging from where she stood. He turned toward her, confusion written on his face. His heart raced as she smiled at him, tugging him toward 221B. _Home_. He would no doubt be sending the workers away for the evening, as it seemed Molly had other plans, and now, he did too.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this, but I do know the idea formed from a writing exercise I was doing. I hope y'all enjoy this probably short journey lol


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